by Jane Baskin
Che, fumbling for words. Colwen, looking down at his feet. He too, had been practicing in his rooms, with friends at fireside. Some small successes. (Can it br learned?) Silence, for a few moments.
Then Scilla: “You must stop this.”
More silence. Then Nayan: “Why? This – gift – can be useful. In many ways.”
“Useful in getting you killed.”
So Olgar told Che, Colwen, and the other young people what they had never fully known. “Your mother had the gift, Che. I told you that much. That’s how she managed to heat the ale.” Looked over quickly at Zoren-te. “And apparently … that technique is still being used.”
Zoren-te, now she too, looking away from Olgar’s terrible gaze. Quietly: “I get help from Nayan.”
“I’m aware. Listen to me. This gift is not unknown. It’s more common in the North, to be sure. Where gell use is more moderate, but constant. No one knows for sure if it’s the gell, or heredity, or both. Your young cousins, Nayan – I believe they’re doing research into it. But whatever the case, it’s not unknown in the South. Especially due to mixed and confounded blood lines, thanks to the practice of handing out peasant women to visiting lords.
“Your mother’s lineage is, like my own, uncertain. There was a time when northern lords visited the South often, trying to make peace. It’s rumored that many of them sired children with peasant women. The practice was not as common at Vel, so we considered ourselves somewhat lucky to belong to that house. Nevertheless, we may trace at least part of our lineage to the North. You two are the product of my union with your mother, that is indisputable. But to preserve that union, we believed, we had to come north.
“Also to preserve your mother’s life. For she had the gift, and it was discovered. Just after we wed, just before she discovered she was pregnant with you, Che … a visiting lord tried to force himself on her, right there in the castle kitchen. She stopped him … with her mind. Knocked him backward, into some hot cook pots. He was astonished – and angry. He told Lord Vel. He also told the Lady of Vel, who had little tolerance for anything out of the ordinary. She ordered that your mother be executed. By fire. Like all the so-called witches who were discovered with this “gift.” Thankfully, Lord Vel came to talk to your mother, before he was to carry out the sentence.
“This is where the story becomes fantastic. You see, the Lord himself also had the gift. He moved some chairs around with his mind, for your mother and I to see. Then he gave us supplies and some money. He gave us a gantha and a wagon, and told us to head north. He said, ‘All the gods be with you.’ And we came here.
“In the South, whenever the gift was discovered, it was murdered. Man or woman, it did’t matter. People were shot, beheaded; some were burned alive. It was a fearful thing. For it suggested peasants might be able to fight off their oppressors, as your mother did.”
Silence in the room. An odd tableau. As Olgar talked, though his voice was not loud, others in the room: gathering closer. Left their seats, surrounded the table. Now, not a sound in the cavernous hall.
Maybe two minutes? Five? Finally Nayan: “Do you suppose this gift has fueled the peasant revolt?”
Olgar, a shrug. “Who knows about such secrets? It was never very common. Maybe here and there, there might be some in the peasant armies with special abilities. But I doubt it has fueled their strength very much. What fuels their strength is that they care little whether they live or die.”
Then Che: “But Father, Nayan and I – we’ve discovered, that the gift can be developed. I’ve been able to hear Nayan’s thoughts since we were children; we never minded much about it. Then just before the surprise attack, when Mother was killed … Nayan and Zoren managed to get thoughts to me from over a distance. I tried to warn Dar-agan and Ilia-te … but they laughed at me.”
A sad smile from Olgar. “I know.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Because your mother pried the story out of Ilia-te, when she came down to the kitchens, distraught. You see … Ilia-te had the gift, herself. She and your mother … well, they were very close.”
“Then why didn’t we prepare – ?”
“Because there was no time. By the time Ilia-te confessed to your mother, the raiders were upon us.”
Nayan, slumping forward in his chair. Rubbed a hand over his chin. Then again. Looked away.
When he had composed himself: “I didn’t know the details. I knew Che got the message, tried to tell my parents … ”
Olgar: “You didn’t know your mother had the gift.”
“I knew. I tried very hard – at her command – to forget it.” Nayan looked up sharply at Olgar. “Why did she laugh at Che? Why didn’t she believe him?”
Olgar’s voice, soft now. “I believe she did, Nayan. I believe she felt like some awful ghost had come to visit her. She, like Ania, believed in keeping the gift secret. For fear of consequences. The little Ania had time to tell me, before the attack … was that your mother was slightly hysterical after talking to Che. She didn’t know what to do. She did … what she could. She told Ania. Ania told me. I roused what people I could. I tried to clear the hall of diners. But of course, it was too late.”
Nayan, a giant rock in his throat. Silence. Then: “They could have saved themselves.
Olgar: “Yes, Nayan. They could have. But as I told my sons, at the final moment, they made their choice.”
Finally Che: “But Father. This gift – it can be used. Southern lords were right: it’s a dangerous gift. Whether the peasants in the South have it, or are smart enough to use it or not, we are. We can use it in battle. We don’t have to be afraid of their numbers any more. We can be powerful.”
Olgar, smiling so sadly some others in the hall began to weep: “Yes, son. I know. I wish I didn’t, but I know. Your mother knew. And yours, Nayan. To speak in thoughts … perhaps that’s not so evil. But to be able to kill a man just by seeing him dead, that is a power your mothers believed no one should ever have.”
So. At last. They’re aware.
Well, at least they’re speaking about it openly.
In the North, not the South.
It’s not as common in the South.
But it’s there. Our little ‘love match’ has been, like the others, carefully arranged.
Yes, of course. About her father. But what if – the old woman’s sight was correct?
I told you. There is no death.
You’re saying –
There is no death.
While Noar started life in Selshay with an extraordinary welcome.
What a place! How had he not known about this small but powerful province? Where the weather was wintry, but not insanely so. Where the mansion was large and comfortable, but not so large one had to make it into a self-contained village just to keep it warm. Where the ruling family was large, welcoming, and powerful. Where the house was filled with relatives, minor lords and ladies from all over the province.
Noar, treated with deference and respect. Warmth, even. Once Iskar had informed everyone of the excellent qualities of his new friend … and his willingness to be part of the fight … his northern strangeness, overlooked. In fact, the opposite. All southerners: familiar with the reputation of Cha-ning fighters. Never in history had a southern raid been successful at Cha-ning. Perhaps raiding had become so much of a tradition … could not be held back. But never had a single gell seed been captured, nor a single cache of gell. Not from Cha-ning.
Southern raiders: always beaten back. From every northern province. But especially from Cha-ning. Where the fighters were renowned for ferocity, shrewd tactics, toughness. Even women fought, in Cha-ning. And were to be reckoned with.
So Selshay: considering itself lucky to have a Cha-ning warrior among its defenders. And the sub lord of Cha-ning himself … all this, combined with his natural attractiveness … Noar: on his way to being adored.
After a little while – and a little maneuvering from Iskar – not even suspected as a s
py.
Fully included in the meetings held in a large, ornate dining hall reserved for the Lord, Iskar’s brother. Innask, a tall, handsome young man with the bearing of a leader. The kind of man for whom other people would part, just to let him pass. The kind of man they would stare after. Like Nayan. Put the thought out of his mind.
This day, Innask: informing the assembled lords of the peasant army’s progress. Lords of Scell and Irgan had pushed them back several miles; giving Selshay some time to prepare. But the peasant army: huge. And desperate.
Innask: “Word is that the peasants are throwing everything into this offensive. That they care little whether they live or die. Scell and Irgan held them and forced them back, but at great cost.”
Iskar: “What’s the state of their armament?”
“Sadly, word is that they’re well armed. They have rifles and plenty of ammunition, apparently. Fortunately, we have some new hand held bombs that detonate when thrown. They proved invaluable.”
“Really? Where did we get such things?”
“We’re not certain. But one of Scell’s commanders said he heard one was discovered in the ruins at Vel, then taken apart and engineered by our factories. The northern bandits” – looked for a microsend at Noar, then down – “were apparently very well armed.”
Noar, not outwardly showing the inner wince at the news. Who had dropped the hand bomb? Tried to remember if he had been carrying them. Of course he had. Had he used them all? Couldn’t recall. But knew: these little weapons alone could turn the tide of a battle. Had come in very handy at Darleigh and Vel.
Iskar, again: “Will we have these new bombs?”
Innask: “They’re being shipped from the remaining factory at Vel. The castle, as we know, was destroyed. But the factories were constructed at some distance. The one built underground survived the attack.”
Noar, wondering how they could have missed one. Remembered blowing up two factories; thought that was it. And the storehouses, even earlier, many by his own hand. A sudden flash of admiration for the old lion of Vel. Then a sudden flash of gratitude to all the gods, that no one could read his mind (so far as he knew).
Listening to the talk of war. Being included in the planning and preparation – heady stuff, for Noar. His reception, now becoming enthusiastic. The encouraging smiles of Iskaya-te.
The latter, seating herself next to him at every dinner. And dinner: a formal affair in this place. Where lords and ladies dressed in their finest, held gentle conversation while waited on hand and foot by legions of servants. Noar, discovering that he liked it. Retiring after dinner with the lords to the men’s lounge for brandy, while the ladies waited for them in the finest of the large lounges. Joining Iskaya-te after manly conversation, greeted by a look of genuine happiness on her face. While other ladies watched and tittered.
Iskar, selecting a fine gantha for him. One of the stable’s most fiery. Noar, no stranger to the saddle. Had the beast under control quickly. To the enthusiasm of all watchers; lords and ladies alike.
Iskar: “I told you. He’s something, isn’t he?”
Innask: “He knows the saddle, I’ll give him that.”
Then the practice yard. Where he outfought and outrode all comers. Graciously, of course. (Like his brother before him, at Vel)
At night, his bed turned down and warmed for him with an electric heater. A pretty maid, asking if he needed anything further. Night after night. Iskar, laughing at him in the mornings. Finally, Iskar confronting him directly: “You look tense, Noar. You should partake of the castle’s amenities.”
Noar: confused. “I thought I was partaking of the castle’s amenities.”
“The maid assigned to you tells me otherwise.”
“Huh?”
Iskar, laughing out loud now. “Why do you think there’s a maid, rather than a manservant, attending you? Tell me if you think she’s not pretty; I’ll get another.”
Noar, astonished. Understanding, but not believing. “You mean – ”
“Of course I mean. That. She’s there for your amusement.”
“Who is she?”
“Just a peasant. Property of the estate. What difference does it make? Is she pretty enough?”
Noar, fumbling for words for a moment. “I – um. Yes, of course, she’s pretty. I’m just not used to – ”
Iskar, barely able to control his laughter. “Gods alive, it’s true, then. What we hear about your northern housemaids. That they would consider such behavior – a trespass of some sort.”
“Well … we don’t … uh … ”
“You mean you ask them politely.” More laughter.
“I – yes, in fact, we do.”
“Well this one you don’t have to ask. She knows her duty.”
“Really.”
Iskar, becoming serious. “Look, Noar. It’s wise for a soldier to go into battle relaxed and in the best shape possible. We eat well, we drink well, and we take pretty peasants into our beds. All the young women are called up at times like this. Enjoy.”
That night, Noar: watching the girl turn down his bed. (She really was quite pretty) When she asked if there would be anything else: got up his nerve. Asked her if she could help him with his tunic. When she helped him start to disrobe … took her hand, motioned toward the bed with a nod. His eyes, questioning.
In response, the girl: began to take off her own clothes. Without a grain of emotion, yay or nay. No expression readable on her face. Just doing it. Noar, feeling awkward. “Are you sure this is all right … I mean, with you?”
The girl, shrugging as she dropped her dress to the floor. “Wouldn’t make any difference if it weren’t.”
Then she: naked in the bed. Waiting for him.
For the first time in his adult life, Noar: uncertain. The sight of a naked woman in his bed, of course producing the expected reaction. But … hesitant.
Until the girl motioned for him to come into the bed. Just a peremptory wave of the hand. But Noar, taking it as an invitation.
Then, oh. Unable to deny the feelings that flooded his body. Hadn’t been with a woman since the professional in Sauran City. And … had been dreaming of Iskaya-te nonstop, before and since. Had underestimated his own need. Noar, getting into the bed, taking the girl into an embrace. Felt her stiffen, but ignored it. Plunged into her with rare abandon. Enjoyed her fully. Told her to stay in the bed, in case he should wake and need her again. Which he did, several times. Thinking to himself – unable to not think it – my privilege. My right and my privilege.
29.A Hero Rises
When finally called into battle, Selshay: ready. Eager, even. While lords of any age were called into service, the young ones: especially eager.
Lords of Scell and Irgan, along with several other southern provinces, several day’s ride from Selshay. Aided, of course, by the excellent web of train lines that criss-crossed the South. Boxcars, capable of transporting troops.
Noar, looking over his brothers in arms. Impressive, them. Commanders: all aristocrats. Proud in their leather and metal armor; finely trimmed uniforms. Gleaming swords, long rifles. Mounted on the finest ganthas. Troops: eager and well outfitted. Well trained to the commands of the noble officers.
And oh – so many of them. Noar: never having seen so many troops assembled before the field. Never having seen the truly regal nature of war. To some people. To these people.
Innask: a spyglass. Surveyed the peasant army, assembled facing the lords and their troops on a ridge. Passed the spyglass to Iskar with a wry smile. Iskar to Noar, when he was done.
Noar: observing the enemy. First observation: exhausted. Banged up. Second observation: hunger, like a wolf among them. Not an extra ounce of fat in the entire army. An army of skinny, tired men and women. Ragged.
Still. Noar: not used to just lining up and slugging it out. All his training; all the training in the arts of war that the North provided to all its citizens … burning a hole in his brain. This is wrong. This is the way to g
et killed. No wonder so many southern lords have been wiped out.
“Kissing Death,” it was called in the North.
Noar: believing that armies should have detailed battle plans. With backup after backup. Like the ditches at Vel. Like all the (armed) spies hidden in each keep. From which hidden men could rise and throw the small hand bombs at advancing enemies. Like the flanking maneuvers northerners were so good at. Like the ability to break an enemy into small groups that were easy to decimate.
But. Not his place to criticize.
This day, the enemy: engaged in the ravine between the two ridges. A terrible position, partly engineered by Noar. Had noticed right away, the awful terrain that begged to be used. Had urged his small group to push the peasant army flank, riding back and forth along it, shooting madly. Slowly, slowly; driving them down, away from the wood. Down the second ridge.
Now Noar, fighting like a madman. Riding virtually alone down the second ridge, shooting wildly. Single handedly piercing the forward enemy ranks, isolating a small group of peasant footsoldiers. Driving this group up the first ridge to waiting lords … who killed them all. With unique enthusiasm. Riding even over their own troops, to draw blood.
Every one.
Noar, back to battle. Again, riding maniacally, shooting expertly. Isolating another group, driving them into the waiting jaws of the lords. Over and over.
By the end of the day, Innask: “All gods, Iskar, your northern friend is a lion.”
“I told you he was something, didn’t I?” A grin.
The peasant army, fleeing the field. Many chased by Noar and Iskar, mad for blood. But most of the ragged peasant army, living to fight again.
At Selshay, much discussion in Innask’s war room. Innask: “ Well done today, gentlemen. But they’ll be back.”
Noar: “They have nowhere else to go.”
Attention turning to him. Innask, a slight smile: “Explain, please; Cha-ning.” As if he were the actual Lord of Cha-ning. Noar, noticing. Smile.
Noar: “The peasants fight because they have no choice. They have nowhere to go except run over you. Even if they can’t win, they’ll fight on. Their only other choice is to gather all together on your front meadow and lift their necks to your knives.”